


Early Morning

by amy_vic



Category: Without a Trace
Genre: F/M, PTSD, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-04
Updated: 2010-03-04
Packaged: 2017-10-07 17:37:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amy_vic/pseuds/amy_vic





	Early Morning

It's been raining since 4am. Samantha has been awake since before it started, lying in bed staring at the ceiling. The streetlights have cast odd shapes on the wall opposite the bed, and she can't bear to look at them. Truthfully, the shadows frighten her; they look vaguely human, and the rain makes strange sounds against the windows.

It sounds like voices, Sam thinks.

_"It-it was an accident."_

Samantha shivers, despite the heavy duvet on her bed. Her leg has begun to throb, a steady drumming in time with the rain against the windows. She throws back the covers and reaches for her cane. Martin brought it to her the day before she left the hospital; he told her it had been his grandmother's. It's beautiful, all polished black wood and silver fittings, but some days Samantha feels like putting it through a wall. She hates having to depend on it, knowing that it is a sign for everyone to see. Word travels fast through the office. Everyone knows what happened, and why she survived.

_Jack._

Jack Malone, her boss, her lover, had traded her life for his. He had picked her up, carried her out of that bookstore, and gone back inside to what could have been his own death.

_"Be back soon, okay?"_

If she'd had the strength, Samantha would have called out for him to stay outside, with her. She hadn't even been able to open her mouth. She had watched him walk away, powerless to stop him.

Samantha makes her way into her kitchen, taking care to avoid the over-sized flower arrangement the team has given her. It is an odd mix; daisies, wildflowers, orchids (those were Vivian's idea, she thinks) and a few pink roses that she's pretty sure came from Martin. There was a card with the flowers, covered in scrawled best wishes from everyone. Everyone except Jack, of course.

His flowers had arrived one morning last week. Samantha had opened the door, on her way to physiotherapy, and almost tripped over them. Three roses: two white, one red, were lying against the doorframe. Samantha had picked them up, found no card attached, and looked up just in time to see the elevator doors close. She'd gone to her appointment knowing the roses has been from Jack, confused as to why he'd left them like that.

Samantha gets an ice pack from the freezer and goes into her living room. She can see most of lower Manhattan from her windows. She used to be able to wake up every morning and look out at the skyline as she drank her first cup of coffee, but all Samantha sees now are random buildings. There isn't anything special about them; not anymore. She sits down on the couch and props her leg up on the arm, adjusting the ice pack so the condensation won't drip on the leather. Her cell phone is on the coffee table, silent. Jack still has not returned her calls. Samantha doesn't really expect him to, not for a while.

~~~~~

The first time she'd called him had been after she'd come out of surgery. She's woken up, disoriented, to find Danny and Martin sitting next to her bed. They both looked at her, startled, when she spoke, her voice whispered and rusty.

_"Jack?"_

Danny couldn't look her in the eye. He only stared down at the floor while she looked around the room wildly; trying to find the only person she needed to see. Martin had finally put a hand on her arm, forcing her to look up at him.

_"Jack isn't here, Samantha."_

Samantha had immediately thought the worst. She'd imagined Jack lying in the bookstore, his blood on the carpet mixing with hers. Imagined Jack lying on a steel table, being cut open, poked and prodded. Samantha began to cry, terrified; Danny had stood up and left the room without looking back at her. Martin had put both his hands on Samantha's face, looking directly in her eyes. She had been surprised by this, and stifled her tears.

_"Jack's fine. He is fine, you understand? He got Barry outside and no one is hurt. Everyone is okay."_

Samantha had looked up at Martin, her eyes wild, and started to cry again. This time it had been relief. After a minute, she'd gotten herself under control and looked up at Martin once again.

_"Pass me the phone, please."_

_"Samantha, I don't think that's-"_

_"Give me the goddamn phone, Martin. Now."_

Martin had pulled away from her then. He hadn't looked her in the eye as he pulled his cell phone from his coat and handed it to her, wordlessly. She had punched in a number, not needing to look down; her fingers found the proper keys as they always did. Her hands were steady until the phone started to ring. On the fourth ring, the answering machine kicked in.

_"Jack? It, it's me. I just needed to tell you that I, I..."_

She had put down the phone then, staring at it as though it were alien. She didn't really know what to say. What could she have said? She had wanted to tell Jack everything and nothing, all at once. Martin had taken the phone from her then, closing off the call, worried if she held it much longer it would end up across the room as a pile of shattered plastic and metal. Samantha had looked up at Martin, and the tears in her eyes had nearly broken his heart; she looked like a little girl whose best teddy bear gets stolen. He put a hand on her back, not really sure what else to do.

_"Hey, Samantha, listen, I'm sure Jack-"_

She broke down then; sobbing as though her heart had been torn out of her chest. In a way, it had been. Martin could only put his arms around her, stroking her hair, while she fell apart.

They stayed that way until the sun came up and the doctors finally kicked him out.

~~~~~

Samantha looks down at her lap to find that she has picked up her own cell phone, and is about to dial a number. Glancing at the clock, she realizes that it is barely 5:30, hardly a time to call anyone, even in New York. Samantha puts the phone down quickly, wondering who she had been about to call. It is a silly, redundant thought, of course.

She was going to call Jack again.

It was strange, but every time she called his house, she wound up having conversations with Marie. Samantha stares out her window, watching as the first light of day peeks around buildings, thinking back to the last conversation she'd had with Marie. She'd called the same day the flowers appeared on her doorstep, the minute she'd returned home. She'd only meant to leave a message to have Jack call her, but Marie had asked a question that had frozen her in place.

_"Is he in love with you, Samantha?"_

Samantha hadn't known how to respond; she didn't have any idea how Jack felt about her anymore. Marie had waited for an answer, but when Samantha didn't respond, Marie went ahead and kept talking.

_"It's okay if he does. At least he's in love with someone. With the girls, it's different. He is their father; he loves them, and he always will, but he doesn't love me the same as how he used to. I don't think he's loved me in a long time, actually. Not since he started working with you."_

Marie had gone quiet then, waiting to hear a reaction. She had not been angry with Samantha, only resigned to the fact that her husband had reached a breaking point.

_"Marie, you have to understand that I never wanted to break you apart. Our affair is over, and it has been for a long time. I don't keep calling because I need him, or want him, or anything you might think. I'm simply calling so I can thank him."_

_"I don't understand, Samantha. What are you talking about?"_

_"Jack didn't tell you anything, did he? About that morning he came home?"_

_"No."_

So Samantha had told Marie everything, starting with the moment she'd picked up the phone in the bookstore. Marie remained quiet until Samantha finished speaking, and then asked Samantha the one question no one had asked her before.

_"Do you still love him, Samantha?"_

Samantha had hesitated, but only for a second. She didn't see any use in lying to Marie. _"Yes, I do."_

~~~~~

Samantha shakes her head at the memory. That had been the first time she'd admitted her feelings for Jack to anyone. She found it strange that his wife had been the first to hear it. Samantha shifts her position on the couch, about to lie down and hopefully fall asleep when there is a knock at the door. Looking out the window, she sees that the sun has come up fully now. Checking the clock, Samantha finds that she has been sitting here for an hour and a half. She gets up, making her way to the door slowly; her leg has stiffened up on her again.

Through the peephole, Samantha can't see anything; there doesn't seem to be anyone there. Going against all her instincts, she opens the door.

"Hey, Sam. I didn't wake you, did I?"

Stunned, Samantha can only shake her head. Jack is standing in front of her, looking slightly ashamed. For an instant, Samantha wonders if Marie told him to come over, instead of just calling her back. Then, just as quickly, she realizes that it doesn't matter how he got here. The important thing is that he is here. Finally, she recovers her voice.

"No, I've been up for a while. I couldn't sleep. I, uh, do you want to come in? I'll put coffee on."

Jack smiles at her, clearly relieved. The entire way over to her apartment, Jack had been scared she'd shut the door in his face, or tell him to go to hell, or worse. He'd spoken to Martin shortly after Samantha had woken up in the hospital, and Martin had mentioned that when Samantha had asked for his phone, she'd given him a look so fierce that Martin had been afraid she'd tear him apart if he didn't relinquish it. Jack had laughed about that, until he realized Martin wasn't laughing with him. Martin had only given him a slightly disappointed look, shook his head, and walked away. Now, looking at Samantha's face, seeing the mixed emotions there, he realized why Martin had looked at him that way. He was determined not to screw this up; not when he had another chance.

"Thanks, I'd like that."

Samantha opens the door wider, stepping back to let Jack in. He nods his thanks as he passes.

"How's your leg? I asked everyone else, but no one will tell me."

"It's okay. I'm going to need to use this stupid cane for a while, but I'll heal. I'm tough."

"Yeah, you are."

There is hesitation between them now; only the sounds of coffee brewing and mugs being taken down keep the kitchen from being completely silent. Neither of them really knows how to bring up the issue. After what seems like hours, Jack speaks.

"Listen, Sam, I think we should talk..."

Samantha won't turn around. She isn't ready to meet his eyes yet. Instead, she concentrates on pouring his coffee; her hands are trembling, and she doesn't think second-degree burns will improve the situation.

"Yeah, I think we should."

Now she turns to him. Hands him his coffee, black, in her second-favourite mug, the one he always uses when he comes over. Smiling a little, she sees that Jack hasn't moved. He is standing just inside the kitchen, one hand on the back of the chair where she always drops her coat when she comes home from work. Every time Jack would come home with her to discuss a case, or for a quick dinner before heading back to Maria, he would stand there, running his hand over her coat like it was some magical talisman, like if he touched it enough, everything would turn out for the better. Now the coat was in her hall closet; she hasn't needed it in five weeks.

"You can sit down, you know. That chair won't break."

Jack looks at her, sheepishly. He is caught between wanting everything to be the same as it was, knowing that everything had changed, and not knowing how to amend either situation. Deciding to let Samantha call the shots, he sits, keeping his hands curled around the mug. Samantha sits down at the other end of the table, not next to him, as he had expected her to. Then he remembers-the rules are different now; or maybe the rules are the same, and Samantha is different. Jack isn't sure. But when she rests her leg on the chair next to him, things become clearer. Not much clearer, but it helps.

"So, you'll be coming back to work in, what? A week and a half?"

"Yeah. The first week or so, I'll be staying around the office; I'm not quite ready to go back in the field yet."

"Physically or mentally?"

Damn. She had known that question would come up, but hadn't expected it first off.

"I won't be running a marathon anytime soon, but I'll be out there in less than a month, okay?"

Jack shakes his head. He knew he'd never get a straight answer from her; she won't allow it. Still, he is going to keep trying until he got one.

"Uh-huh. How are you, though?"

"You've been getting my psych reports. Didn't you read them? "

"Yeah, I read them. But a couple of pages every week doesn't really tell me what I want to know."

The reports were all the same: _Refusal to discuss incident._ Every week, the pages crossed his desk and every week he read them, hoping this week would be different. They never were. Each week, Samantha went into the office, told the doctor, "I'm fine. Really. I'm okay. I'll see you next Tuesday at 3." Anyone who really knew her shouldn't have been surprised by that.

"I'm fine, Jack. A little trouble sleeping, my leg itches like crazy, and I'm bored silly not being at work. But that's it. Really. I'm okay."

Samantha still won't look him in the eye. She's afraid that if she does, she'll have to admit the truth to him. She isn't sure she can do that yet; she's having a hard enough time admitting it to herself. She keeps thinking that the longer she puts it off and doesn't deal with it, that it just might go away.

"Bullshit."

Jack stares at her, challenging her to meet his eyes. He wants her to tell him the truth, not just what she wants him to hear. He can't stand being shut out like this, especially by Samantha; that hurts him more than he can stand. She refuses to look at him. Instead, she stands up and takes her mug to the sink. It's still mostly full, but she dumps it anyway; it allows her just a little more time with her back to him.

"Jack, please don't..."

She trails off, not really knowing what she had planned to say. Whatever it was, it wouldn't have been the truth. She walks out into the living room, feeling too confined in the small kitchen. Jack follows her, not willing to give up until he gets his answers.

"Don't what? Be concerned about you? It's a little late for that. I just want to know what is going on."

Samantha turns around suddenly. She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come. She looks around the room as if the answers might be written on the wall, then she sits on the couch, curling her body into the corner. When Jack sees her take the blanket down off the back and pull it around her shoulders, he only sits at the other end of the couch and waits. Both his girls used to do the same thing when they were little and they saw monsters in the closet or under the bed. Sooner or later, he knows, the monsters go away.

"It's okay, Sam."

Her eyes fill with tears, and she wipes them away using a blanket corner. It nearly breaks Jack's heart; she looks so young, vulnerable, and scared.

"No, it isn't okay, Jack! You don't understand, it isn't supposed to be like this!"

He reaches out and brushes her hair back off her face. A simple gesture, but it works. Jack can almost feel her crumble under his touch. Her words come out in a rush, so fast it's almost impossible to tell where each word ends and the next begins.

"He shot me, and you left, Martin said you went back inside, you left me, Jack, and I didn't know if you were okay, then I woke up and everyone else was there but you, and I was scared you were dead, and I called you, you never called back, I didn't know what to think when you weren't there, you left me those roses, God, Jack, he shot me with _my own damn gun_, and nothing makes sense anymore, I feel like everything is falling down again, I was so scared, Jack, why does it feel like everything is falling apart?"

She punctuates this sentence by bursting into harsh sobs. The only thing Jack can do is take her in his arms and hold her until the storm passes.

After what feels like days, it does.

"Do you feel any better now, Sam?"

She doesn't answer. Jack pulls away from her just enough to look at her face. Samantha has fallen asleep. Her chest is rising and falling rhythmically; her eyelids, he sees, are the translucent purple of the truly exhausted. Rather than risk waking her, Jack simply pulls the blanket over them both and lies back. He doesn't want Samantha to wake up alone this time. He hopes Maria will understand.

After some time, lulled by Samantha's deep, even breathing, Jack sleeps.


End file.
